


Hitman: The Babysitter

by Innwich



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Bickering, Crack, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, dad!spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innwich/pseuds/Innwich
Summary: In which Spy worked for the Agency when he wasn’t stabbing people in the back in New Mexico, and Scout tagged along on one of Spy’s missions.





	Hitman: The Babysitter

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering what Spy looks like, here are some [pics](http://innwich.tumblr.com/post/159902164940/hitman-the-babysitter).

“Nice haircut you got there,” Scout said.

A muscle in Spy’s cheek twitched. It was real easy to spot since Spy wasn’t wearing his ski mask. Spy kept his eyes on the highway he was driving on but he had a vein popping up on the side of his bald head the way Heavy did whenever Scout ate a sandvich off the ground to save time running to a health pack. The sandviches didn’t even taste that great. There were always bits of grass or sand or gravel stuck to the bread. If Heavy wanted Medic to have the sandviches, he should hand them to the doc instead of leaving them in the dirt where anyone could pick them up.

“I called it. I frigging knew you’re bald under that mask,” Scout said.

“This is merely one of my many disguises.” Spy straightened his red tie and flicked ashes off of his cigarette out of the driver window. The wind whistling through the window made it hard to hear the song playing on the radio, but the radio was probably playing some sappy French crap anyway. Spy continued, “You’re an imbecile if you think I’d show you what I truly look like.”

“What? You wearing a bald cap or something?”

“Please,” Spy scoffed, “I don’t use cheap costume pieces for my disguises.”

“That don’t look like a disguise to me.” Scout leaned over his seat and swiped at Spy’s face.

“Scout!” Spy said. The car swerved wildly on the road as Spy struggled to bat Scout’s hands away.

Scout gave Spy’s nose a sharp tug but it didn’t come off. It just turned an angry blotchy shade of red like the rest of Spy’s face. Scout said, “Yeah, nah, this is totally your face. No fake nose, no mask, no nothing.”

The truck behind them tooted its horn. Spy dug his thumb into the folds of Scout’s eyelid. Scout yelped at the pain. He pried at Spy’s finger, but Spy had pulled back his own hand and he smacked Scout upside the head hard enough to send Scout tumbling back into his seat.

“Aw, man,” Scout groaned, pressing his hand over his eye. His eye was sore, but he definitely wasn’t crying. Only babies and little kids cried. His eye was just watering like he had been staring at the sun for too long. “You coulda poked my eye out.”

“You’re lucky I promised your mother not to kick you out of the car and run you over,” Spy growled. “Where is my cigarette?”

The trees outside the window were blurry when Scout tried to look at them. After Scout blinked some more, the clouds looked more like angry piles of cotton and less like the gray blobs that they had been seconds ago. Scout heaved a sigh of relief and leaned his head back on the leather headrest.

“It’s like half the guys on the team don’t have hair,” Scout thought out loud.

Spy muttered under his breath as he retrieved his cigarette from under his seat, and relit it with the electric lighter that was plugged in next to the gearshift. Scout didn’t have to know French to know Spy was still mad about Scout’s stunt. Not knowing what Spy said, though, made it hard for Scout to say anything back, so Scout reached for the lighter where Spy had put it back in its socket. Either Spy didn’t notice or he didn’t care, because he was pouring himself another glass of fruity wine.

“Who are we gonna kill at the hotel anyway?” Scout said, poking at the glowing end of the lighter.

“Our targets are two arms dealers: Murray and Thurman.” Spy handed Scout a color photograph. It was a picture taken outside a busy café. A plump man with long blond hair was marked with the letter ‘M’ in red ink. A tall dark-haired man sitting at a table was marked as ‘T’. “They are negotiating a deal to supply weapons to the Italian mafia. Their business rivals are willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money to make sure the deal doesn’t happen,”

Scout stuck the lighter back in its socket. “These guys look like creampuffs.”

“True, which is why they employ dozens of bodyguards to protect them around the clock, but it’s a simple matter of killing the targets, hiding the bodies, and leaving before anyone notices we’re there,” Spy said. “The difficult part is figuring out how to make you shut up for the entirety of the mission.”

“I’m the life of the party, pal,” Scout said. He flipped down the sun visor and flipped it back up. It made a funny noise when it slapped against the ceiling, so Scout did it again. “People line up around the block to hear me talk. You should thank your lucky star you have a front row seat to the Scout Show.”

“My lack of luck has nothing to do with it. I owed your mother a favor.” Spy pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is simple, Scout. Do what I say, and there will be a chance this doesn’t go to hell.”

“Y’know, Ma told me the same thing this morning before she left for the bus.” Scout idly sifted through the glove box. “I figured, how hard can it be to kill a buncha guys in a fancy hotel? I’ve killed plenty of people in a desert. I mean, yeah, they don’t stay dead, but it ain’t my fault that I kick their asses so hard they crawl back from the grave for more. That’s how good I am.”

“We’re not fighting idiots over worthless pits of gravel in this mission.” Spy sucked on his cigarette. “The objective is to stay undetected, which I see is too complicated for you to comprehend.”

“What do we have here?” Scout pulled a yellow rubber duck out of the glove box. The rubber duck had an orange beak and a pair of painted beady eyes; it looked just like the ones in the dime store that Ma used to take him to when he had been a kid. Scout turned it over in his hands and grinned. “You planning on taking a bath in the presidential suite?”

Spy sighed, but when he turned and saw the rubber duck Scout was holding, he recoiled sharply. “Put that down now.”

“You forgot to leave this in your bathtub,” Scout said.

“Scout, I’ll kill you before I let you blow up this car,” Spy said. His vein was coming out on his temple again and he looked like he was about to give himself an aneurysm. Ashes were falling from the tip of his cigarette into his lap, and he hadn’t even noticed. “The upholstery you’re sitting on is worth more money than you make in a year.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just looking. You’re worse than Heavy and his guns.” Scout dropped the rubber duck back into the glove compartment. “Y’know, it’s funny; I got loads of rubber ducks at home that look just like this one.”

Spy unclenched his hands on the wheel. “I didn’t steal your bath toys, I assure you.”

“I ain’t judging. Who doesn’t like rubber ducks? Ma got me and my brothers a rubber duck each when we were kids so we’d stop fighting over them. It didn’t work, though. My second oldest brother used to beat me up before bath time so he could take mine.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Spy said.

“Yeah, he’s a jerk,” Scout said. “That time I went home for Christmas. I was sleeping on the couch since there ain’t enough beds in the house and I don’t make ladies sleep on the floor. Half of my brothers are married, who would’ve thought? Ma cried at the weddings ‘cause she didn’t think any of us would settle down. So my brother, right? He sneaked a can of whipped cream out of the kitchen and I was sleeping.”

It took another two hours before they arrived at the hotel. Scout startled awake to an empty car and the sound of Spy knocking on his window. Scout didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was Spy telling him to look out of the window because aliens had been kidnapping cows. Scout couldn’t recall if he saw any aliens. The fields were gone and replaced by a quiet city street. The car was parked in front of a closed park, across the road from a blocky building that had a fountain lit up in gold in the front.

Scout yawned as he climbed out of the car. “Where are we?”

“Luxuriton Hotel.” Spy walked over to the locked gate of the park and picked up a couple of loose bricks from a low wall. “Our targets’ final resting place.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s do this,” Scout said.

“Remember what I said. You’ll do what I tell you and keep your mouth shut,” Spy said.

“You’re starting to repeat yourself. Are we going or what?” Scout said.

“I guess there is no point in putting off the inevitable,” Spy muttered. He put out his cigarette under his shoe. “Make no mistake, Scout, I’ll blame you when this mission goes to hell.”

The bellboy at the door greeted them when they walked into the lobby. A chandelier was hanging from the high ceiling. The lobby was lit brighter than a Christmas tree and the floor shone like a polished mirror. There weren’t a lot of people. A small family was chatting to the ladies at the front desk. A cleaning lady was sweeping the floor.

“Stay here,” Spy said, heading for the front desk. “I’ll find out which rooms our targets are staying in.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

According to the floor directory, the hotel had a reception and a bar on the ground floor, shops and a restaurant on the first floor, conference rooms on the second floor, a kids room and a gym on the third floor, guest rooms on the fourth to twelfth floors, and a garden on the roof. Scout had never stayed in a swanky place like this. The one time Ma had taken the family on a road trip, they had stayed in a motel where the bathroom had smelled like bleach and Ma had warned them to stay off the stained couch.

Scout wandered off to the soda machines outside the bar. They didn’t have Crit-a-Colas. No one outside of Mann Co. sold Crit-a-Colas and Miss Pauling had confiscated his stash before he had left the base for furlough. She had done it so he would think of her whenever he had a craving for Crit-a-Colas. As if Scout could forget her if he tried.

Sighing wistfully, Scout decided on a regular soda and counted his coins. It was better than nothing. Riding in a car with Spy sucked ass and Scout was pretty sure Spy had knocked him out. Scout didn’t sleep in long car rides, period. Missing pee breaks was less funny than it sounded when an asshole was driving and there were no soda cans in the car.

Spy reached past the soda machine flap and grabbed the soda.

“Give me that, Spy. Get your own soda. I need that more than I need air.” Scout made a wild grab, but Spy ducked under his arm.

“So do I.” Spy crammed the can into his suit jacket.

“You ain’t even drinking it.”

“We have no time to waste.” Spy pressed a button to call an elevator. “Thurman is staying in Room 1204. Murray hasn’t arrived yet. If we strike now, we may be able to eliminate Thurman before Murray arrives.”

The elevator arrived. Scout pressed the button for the twelfth floor, but the button wouldn’t light up. He tried the other buttons, but the guest room floors weren’t accessible. “We need a key. Any bright ideas, fancy pants?”

“I’ll get a key.” Spy stalked out of the elevator.

“They keep keys in the pigeon holes behind the front desk.” Scout brightened. “I’ll distract the ladies. They’re gonna swoon when they take a good look at this mug.”

“No, there are too many people near the desk,” Spy said. “We’ll go around the back.”

Spy strode past the bellboy that was asking whether he could help them, and into the dimly lit bar on the other side of the lobby. The bartender was mixing drinks for a young couple at the bar. Spy picked up an empty beer bottle from the floor and a pool ball from the pool table. He looked around the area to make sure no one could see them, before he pushed open a door that was labelled ‘Staff Only’.

“This will be difficult for you, Scout, but try to stay quiet. We’re trespassing,” Spy said.

“I can be quiet when I have to,” Scout retorted.

Spy sighed and it wasn’t the happy kind of sigh that Ma made when Scout and his brothers brought out cakes from the kitchen on her birthdays, but he led Scout down the passageway. They crept past a cleaning cupboard and a restroom without seeing anyone. Spy slowed down when they reached a locker room and heard people talking behind the door. Spy crouched down and pushed open the door silently. Turning around, he gestured for Scout to follow him with a finger pressed to his lips, and crept through the door.

Two men were changing out of their street clothes and into their bellboy uniforms by the lockers. They had their backs to Scout and Spy.

“— off-limits. The whole floor. They’re acting like they own the place,” one of the bellboys said.

Scout slowly put one foot in front of the other, careful not to let his cleats squeaked on the floor. Spy had already sneaked past the bellboys with swift, silent steps, and was heading for the rows of showers at the far end of the room. There was no way Spy could move that quietly without having stuck something on the soles of his pointy dress shoes. Scout was sweating through his T-shirt like he had run half a dozen laps around the field. He didn’t know how the bellboys couldn’t hear the jackhammer in his chest; he was so close he could reach out with his hand and poke them in the back.

It was the longest twenty feet that Scout had cleared. He picked up his pace once he was sure the guys couldn’t hear him, and crouch-walked as fast as he could to the showers without making a sound.

The shower stalls had curtains instead of doors. Spy was waiting in the last stall with his mouth thinned into a line like he had a shoe wedged up his ass. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Scout squeezed into the shower stall.

It was just big enough to fit the two of them. There were no secret passages. Just them and a solid wall behind them. This had to be the worst strategy that Scout had ever tried, which wasn’t saying much, because scout’s strategies were brilliant, especially the one where he hit himself in the face with his Boston Basher to help Medic build Übercharges. Sure, Scout would appreciate a warning when Medic ran off so he wouldn’t end up bashing himself to death, but, hey, Medic had a lot of people to heal and a lot more people to kill and things slipped his mind. No big deal. Scout could take one for the team.

Hiding in the shower, though, was a whole other level of stupid. Why had he and Spy gone into the trouble of sneaking past those bozos if they were just going to back themselves into a corner? Scout hated tiny spaces. There was no room to run. He hated this.

Without warning, Spy threw a coin through the shower curtain. The coin landed on the tiles with a crisp, clear clatter.

“What are y-” Scout nearly bit his tongue off when Spy clamped his hand over Scout’s mouth.

The conversation at the other end of the locker room stilled.

“Did you hear that?” one of the bellboys said.

“Hear what?”

“A weird noise. It came from the showers. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Maybe it’s one of your ghosts haunting the showers,” the other bellboy said. “I bet they’re dying to know what color underwear you’re wearing today.”

“I’m telling you, hotels are the most haunted places in the world. Guests die all the time, but we don’t hear about it because management doesn’t tell us,” the bellboy said.

“Housekeeping say that to freak you out, man. You’re making it too easy for them.”

“I’m not taking any chances. I’ll check it out,” the bellboy said.

“You’re spooked out by everything.”

Spy released Scout just as Scout thought his jaw was going to crack. Scout worked his jaw and rubbed feeling back to his numb mouth. He would have given Spy a piece of his mind about this stupid plan, but footsteps were coming towards them from the lockers. Spy was crouching behind the shower curtain like a creepy gargoyle statue that no one wanted to find in their bathroom.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away from Scout’s and Spy’s stall.

“A dollar,” muttered the bellboy. “Huh.”

Spy crept out of the shower. The bellboy was bending down to pick up the coin when Spy grabbed him from behind and put him in a chokehold. The bellboy kicked uselessly at the floor. He opened his mouth to shout but no sounds came out. Spy tightened his arm around the bellboy’s neck. The bellboy went slack within the seconds. Spy laid him down on the floor, and moved silently towards the other bellboy left at the lockers.

“What’s the holdup? Did you slip and hit your head?” the bellboy called, folding his jeans.

Spy slammed a brick into the back of his head. The bellboy crashed into the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“What the hell, Spy?” Scout said, trotting out of the shower stall. “Now we gotta hide these bodies ‘cause you can’t stop killing every person you see.”

“They’re not dead. They’re merely unconscious,” Spy said. “Bring that man over here. I’ll take the other one.”

Scout lifted the unconscious bellboy by his arms. It was a scrawny dude with pimples dotted across his forehead. Scout slowly dragged him to the lockers, where Spy was changing into the uniform of the other bellboy. Following Spy’s lead, Scout stripped the uniform off of his bellboy. When Scout had done up the brass buttons on his coat, Spy was already in full uniform and trying to stuff the two unconscious men into a locker.

“You need help with that?” Scout said.

“Take his feet,” Spy said, his words muffled by the half-naked bellboy he was trying to prop up against his own chest. “We cannot risk having the bodies be found.”

“That’s what I’m about to say too. Good thinking, Spy.” Scout grabbed the bellboy by his ankles. “We don’t want security cluing onto us before we even see the guys we’re supposed to kill.”

Spy rolled his eyes skywards. Yeah, he better be thanking baby Jesus. Scout didn’t hand out compliments like they were candies on Halloween. Scout expected his team to bring their A-game to the field. If his team sucked, he would give it to them straight, right in the face. That was how teams worked.

The locker was a tight fit, but it didn’t take much more than a shove and a stubbed toe to close the door on the pair of chucklenuts. Scout had stuffed more people than this in one locker. That had been like packing sardines in a can; Scout had had to bust their kneecaps to make them fit.

Spy was inspecting the keys clipped to his stolen uniform, while Scout admired himself in a mirror. If ladies saw what he was seeing, he would have to beat them off with a stick. He couldn’t blame them for not being able to keep their hands to themselves. The ladies loved a man in uniform. He could be a bellboy if he weren’t so good at hurting people. He should take this suit home.

“Fortunately for us, this man has the keys we need to access the guest room floors and reach our targets,” Spy said, pocketing the keys. “Let us move.”

The hallway was as empty as it had been before. No one was around to notice that they were not the same bellboys that had gone into the locker room.

“This is a cakewalk. I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Scout said.

“This is merely the beginning,” Spy said grimly. “Certain members of the hotel staff may recognize that we’re impersonating their colleagues. We’ll have to avoid direct contact with them while we’re dressed as one of them.”

“People can see through our disguise? Why didn’t you say that in the first place? We could’ve just grabbed the keys and kept our clothes. Then the staff would think we’re guests,” Scout said.

“There are many rooms in a hotel that guests are not allowed to access,” Spy said. “I’m capable of going undetected without using disguises, but I won’t attempt it tonight. You’d give us away the moment we’re trespassing in a restricted area.”

“That’s your problem, Spy. You don’t trust your team to have your back,” Scout said.

“I’m paid to stab people in their back. I don’t trust them to have my back,” Spy said.

“I bash people’s faces in all the time but that don’t stop me from talking to other people.”

“Hell will sooner freeze over before you stop talking,” Spy said.

“Yeah! That’s what I was saying,” Scout said.

The hallway led to a quiet corner at the back of the lobby. A bellboy was waiting for the service elevator with a loaded luggage cart next to him. Spy didn’t wait for the bellboy to notice their presence. He pulled out a beer bottle from his pocket and chucked it at the bellboy’s head. The bottle shattered and the bellboy slumped over the luggage cart.

“The cart will provide us with some cover, should anyone come and investigate the noise.” Spy stuffed the bellboy into a cupboard. He pressed the elevator button and crouched behind the luggage cart. “Now we wait for the elevator.”

Scout crouched behind the cart too. The broken beer bottle was lying on the floor, but Spy didn’t seem too bothered about cleaning up after himself. Spy unhooked a fire extinguisher from the wall next to the elevator and tossed it onto the pile of luggage.

“Why do you keep swiping crap? Someone is gonna catch you, and you’ll get us both arrested,” Scout said.

“They won’t catch me,” Spy said.

“That was what my brother said before he was arrested for trying to rob a bank,” Scout said. “He didn’t rob them though, since the bank guy kept a shotgun under his desk, so the jury let him off the hook. You should’ve seen the look on the judge’s face. She was gonna throw an actual book at him. It was real funny.”

“The jury would have convicted him if one of the jurors hadn’t convinced the rest of the jury that your brother was an illiterate who couldn’t tell a gun from a nonexistent pizza that your brother insisted was in the pizza box where he hid his gun,” Spy said. “As I recall, the jury deliberation started with one vote for not guilty, and ended with twelve for not guilty.”

“Pfft, yeah, I’ve seen _Twelve Angry Men_. This is real life. ‘Sides, no one knows what the juries talk about in the jury rooms,” Scout said.

“I suppose I’ll have to be content with the thanks I received from your mother,” Spy said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scout said. “I’ve been put on dozens of trials. I know how they work. I’d be a lawyer myself if they let me since I’m an expert at lawyering.”

“What are you two doing?”

Scout glanced up from behind the luggage cart where no one was supposed to spot him and Spy couching.

A cleaning lady was frowning at them over her cleaning trolley. “Stand up and stop acting like a creep.”

“Take a hike, lady. We’re working,” Scout said.

The cleaning lady crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

Spy yanked Scout to his feet. “Pardon him. He’s new.”

Scout protested loudly at the rough manhandling. He didn’t like being jerked around like some dumb kid. “Watch it. You’re handling expensive merchandise. Ladies will kill for a look at this gun show.”

“I didn’t know we have new staff coming in,” the cleaning lady said.

“He’s filling in for someone who called in sick. He won’t be here for long. I’m showing him the ropes,” Spy said.

“Not that I need showing,” Scout said. “I’m born ready. I could run a lap around this place before you know I’m gone.”

“As I was saying.” Spy said. His hand tightened around Scout’s elbow in a vise grip. “I’m showing him the ropes.”

The cleaning lady peered over her glasses at Spy. “I don’t remember seeing you around either.”

“I just have one of those faces,” Spy said.

“Are you looking at his face? It looks like everyone’s face. You couldn’t pick him out from a police lineup,” Scout said. “As for me, I’m always picked out from a police lineup ‘cause I’m too handsome.”

The cleaning lady didn’t seem impressed. She was frowning like Scout had spoken in a language other than English. Her face would get stuck like that if she tried to think any harder. To her left, out of her sight, Spy was reaching for the fire extinguisher in the luggage cart.

Fire extinguishers weighed a ton. Hiding bodies in cleaning cupboards was one thing, but scrubbing brain juice out of the carpet was going to take time.

It was then that the elevator doors arrived with a loud ding.

“Hey, look, our ride is here,” Scout said.

The murderous scowl slid off of Spy’s face when the cleaning lady turned around, and he dropped his fire extinguisher back onto the pile of luggage.

“Pardon us.” Spy pushed the luggage trolley into the elevator. He used his stolen keys on one of the locks in the elevator control panel and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

Scout said to the cleaning lady, “We got people to see and places to go. Y’know the drill. Since you work here. Like us. Who work here.”

“Scout!” Spy snapped.

Scout squeezed into the elevator after the luggage trolley as the elevator doors closed. The cleaning lady muttered, “They’ll hire anyone these days.”

The floor numbers above the doors lit up in turn as the elevator slowly rose through the floors. Spy was sandwiched between a wall and the luggage trolley, and Scout was standing in front of the doors with the trolley at his back. Scout could have run up the stairs to the roof and back and grabbed himself dinner in the time that it was taking the elevator to crawl up the building.

“Your plan sucked,” Scout said.

“Scout, when I kill you, it’ll be slow and it’ll hurt like a mother,” Spy said from his corner of the elevator.

“First, you said no one was gonna notice. Then when the cleaning lady noticed us, you were gonna knocked her molars out with a fire extinguisher. Yeah, great plan,” Scout said. “I’m starting to think you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Spy ground his teeth. “The cleaning woman would’ve left us alone if you had stopped talking.”

“Were you even listening when I was talking to her? I saved this mission. It took some convincing but I got there. Give me another minute, and I’d have talked her into thinking we were never here. Why do you think she let us go?” Scout said.

“You convinced her of nothing,” Spy said, “other than that you’re an idiot.”

“Nah, she thinks I’m the best,” Scout said. “But now I have to do it again and show it to you ‘cause you didn’t pay attention.”

“Do not do it again.”

“It’s okay. You don’t gotta ask me to help you out. I’m happy to keep doing it until this mission is completed. We’re a team and we’re in this together,” Scout said.

“There is no ‘we’. ‘We’ are not in this together, Scout,” Spy said sourly. “I can make murders look like accidents and make accidents look like they’ve never happened. You’re only here to observe my work.”

“Yeah, don’t need to observe if we could run in and shoot them in the face,” Scout said.

“We’re not shooting them in the face,” Spy said, glaring at Scout. “We’ll kill them quietly, at a distance that does not attract suspicion.”

The elevator doors slid open at the twelfth floor. A pair of burly men, dressed in leather jackets and matching jeans, were waiting outside the doors. They stared down at Scout and Spy. The man on the right had his hand planted on the bulge under his jacket at his hip.

“Relax, it’s just bellboys,” a man on the left said.

“That’s exactly what we are,” Scout said.

Spy shoved the luggage trolley and its heavy pile of baggage into Scout’s back, and Scout had to grab the front of the trolley and move out of the elevator before Spy ran him over with the trolley.

The hallway was just wide enough for the luggage trolley to fit through without blocking off the hall completely. Both sides of the hallway were lined with doors. The doors were each marked with a room number that was engraved on a black metal plaque. A lady in a summer dress and a wide-brimmed hat came out of a room, and Scout stared after her. She was dressed real classy, like she was going to the church even though it was after six on a Tuesday night. Fat silk flowers sat on the band of her hat like a crown.

“Yo, Spy,” Scout said without looking away from the lady’s hat.

“Our targets have brought security,” Spy said. He hadn’t noticed the lady. He was eyeing a group of men in leather jackets standing in the corner ahead of them. The men had the same jeans as the men outside the elevator. “These men are well-armed and quick to shoot anyone that they see as a threat.”

“Scary. I’ve been shot in the head and in the chest and in freaking everywhere. If I die, I’ll just respawn again,” Scout said.

“While Miss Pauling won’t be thrilled to see you again before the end of our furlough, you getting sent to respawn is the least of my worries,” Spy said. “I’m more concerned that the targets would flee if they were alerted to our presence. Do not start a shootout.”

“Nah, I get it. Miss Pauling deserves a break like the rest of us. How about after the furlough though? You think Miss Pauling will be happy to see me?” Scout said hopefully.

“Entertaining though it may be, I don’t actually enjoy watching you fail as much as you think I do,” Spy said, pushing the trolley cart towards a group of high schoolers, who scattered in his path.

“Wait, you mean you like to see me fail?” Scout said.

It wasn’t busy out in the hallway, but there were guests wandering down the hall to and from the elevators. Scout and Spy wheeled the luggage trolley past a family that was waiting for the mom to find the room key in her handbag. They came across more leather-jacketed guards patrolling the hallway. One of the guards had walked past them twice. He must be doing a loop around the twelfth floor.

“It is like watching a dog chases its own tail; futile and yet oddly endearing,” Spy said.

“I swear, Spy, if you’ve been sabotaging my dates with Miss Pauling, I’d punch your teeth in,” Scout said.

“Your dates don’t require any sabotage from me when you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’m barking up the best tree,” Scout bragged.

“I don’t doubt that.” Spy pulled the luggage trolley to a stop. He read the number off the nearest door. “Room 1204. We’re here.”

For a guy that had been wanting to reach this room since he had walked into the hotel, Spy didn’t look happy to be here. Spy knelt down in front of the door and frowned at the doorknob. “He’s not in the room.”

“How can you tell? You can see through walls or something?” Scout said.

“I can see into the room through the keyhole,” Spy said.

“He’s probably sleeping in the bed. We could go in, snap his neck, and leave him on the floor,” Scout said. “I have your accident right there: He fell out of bed and broke his neck.”

“We should be so lucky.” Spy stood up. He knocked on the door and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Room service.”

They waited. No one answered the door.

Spy fished a silvery lock pick out of his pocket. “I’ll pick the lock. Keep an eye out for guards coming our way.” 

While Spy was working at the lock, Scout looked down the hallway. The luggage trolley behind them wouldn’t stop anyone from seeing what they were doing. Spy had stabbed plenty of people and landed plenty of headshots, but those things didn’t translate to picking locks. Scout had tried picking the lock to a burger joint once when his brothers had dared him to do it. It had taken forever to line a lock pick just right so it would push up all the pins in the lock. It had taken Scout so long that the shopkeeper had shown up, and Scout had had to knock him out before going back to picking the lock.

Spy flicked his wrist and the lock popped open.

Scout gawped at him. “Holy crap, that’s fast.”

“But of course. I’m a spy,” Spy said. He opened the door. “Like I said, the target isn’t here.”

A light coat was hanging from the wall behind the door. There was a suitcase lying on its back on the floor in front of a television. The covers of the queen-sized bed had been disturbed. The bed had been slept in but it was empty.

“Okay, we can fix this. The hotel ain’t that big; I’ll find him in no time,” Scout said.

“Not so fast. Since we’re here, we may as well have a look around the room.” Spy waded into the room.

“Spy, the guy is gonna get away,” Scout said, following Spy into the room. “I ain’t taking the blame if he runs off.”

“He has a meeting with our second target. He’s not going anywhere.” Spy rummaged through the closet.

“How do you know that?

Spy closed the closet and moved on to the study desk. “I’ve been listening to idle chatters on our way here.”

“Yeah, you go work on that. I was too busy thinking up tactics to listen to old lady gossips,” Scout said.

A hotdog was left on a round table by the windows. The takeout cardboard carton was dotted with grease stains, but it hadn’t gone soggy yet. The bun was warm like it had come off from a grill not too long ago.

“You’ll require a long and unpleasant visit to the bathroom if you eat that,” Spy said without turning around.

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.” Spy pocketed a hotel mug that was sitting on the desk. “I’ve poisoned it when you weren’t looking.”

Scout groaned. “Oh man, why do you have to ruin good food? You wasted it for no reason.”

“Hotdogs aren’t good food. They barely qualify as food. They smell bad, taste bad, and look bad. They’re an insult to the human senses,” Spy said.

“You don’t know how to appreciate fast food,” Scout retorted. “Fast food is for fast guys like me. They ain’t for people that sit around on their butts and drink fancy grape juice all day. I gotta get my calories when I’m always running.”

“Always running your mouth, perhaps,” Spy said. “Well, Scout, since you’re unoccupied, come help me look for a folder. It will contain documents and photographs of firearms trades. Let’s see where Mr. Thurman keeps his secrets.”

“Ho ho ho, yeah. Now you’re talking. I capture all the intelligences,” Scout said.

Capturing the intelligence was harder than Scout thought. For one thing, Scout had to find the intelligence first before he could capture it. The intelligence wasn’t kept in a bright glowing briefcase and there were no big arrows pointing to it. How would the guy find his intelligence if he lost it? How would he get back his intelligence if someone stole it? This was the most irresponsible thing Scout had seen since that time Medic had tried to sell everyone on the team their own stomach back for research money.

Scout searched through the drawers in the television stand, and then the bedside stand. He didn’t find a folder in the bedside stand, but he found a pocket knife on top of a hardback Bible. If Spy could steal crap left and right like a kid left alone in a candy store, then Scout could grab himself a knife too.

“I found it.” Spy tugged a manila folder out from under a pile of clothes and slipped it into his jacket.

“Nice going, Spy. I knew you’d find it.” Scout dropped the knife into his back pocket.

“Yes,” Spy said, but he turned towards the door before he could pat himself on the back. A new voice was coming from the hall.

“Which asshat left a trolley out here? It’s blocking the way.”

“Uh, head’s up, I don’t have my guns. Miss Pauling won’t let me take Mann Co. property out of the base. If you have a gun, you might want to use it,” Scout said.

Spy grasped Scout by his arm. “Closet. Now.”

“Why is the door to the boss’s room open?” the voice said.

Spy yanked Scout into the closet. The inside of the closet smelled like forgotten mothballs. Scout was bumping elbows with Spy as Spy pulled the closet doors close and left a crack open. Scout pushed a dangling white complimentary bathrobe out of his face. This was the second time in the day that Scout had been backed into a corner and he hated it.

Someone with heavy footfalls was walking into the room. Scout tried to see who it was, but Spy was hogging the crack in the doors and blocking the view. Scout had to hold onto the clothes rail and stand on tiptoes to look over Spy’s bald head.

A pale bald man in a leather jacket was looking behind the door of the private bathroom. Having found nothing, he shut the bathroom’s door, and then he paced the hotel room slowly, sweeping his eyes over the bed and the bedside stand.

Scout’s breathing was too pitched and too fast for the tiny space in the closet. Scout took a gulp of air and held his breath. It was dead silent in the closet. Scout couldn’t hear Spy breathe even though Scout stained his ears. Spy had hunched down at the closet doors. The only sound in the room was the pale guard’s plodding footsteps on the carpeted floor. 

“This room was locked the last time I checked,” the pale guard said, drawing back the window curtains.

There was a rustle of clothes and Spy was moving. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a brick, and stood to push open the closet doors. It was the same move that Spy had pulled on three people tonight already. Still holding his breath, Scout caught Spy’s hand before Spy could open the doors. Spy turned to glare at him in the dark. Scout shook his head but Spy tried to fling Scout’s hand off of his own wrist. Scout seized the chance to kick Spy in the shin. Spy hissed in pain and clutched his own foot. Spy’s brick dropped onto the closet floor with a small thump.

The pale guard turned sharply away from the windows and looked at the closet. Scout and Spy froze like painted cardboard ducks in a shooting gallery.

The pale guard scanned the room again. His gaze passed over the closet one more time. Scout couldn’t hold out for much longer; his lungs would burst if he didn’t breathe now. But Spy still hadn’t started breathing yet. Scout had amazing cardio. He could run for hours, while Spy went through a pallet of cigarettes a day. No way Scout would blow this mission because he couldn’t hold his breath longer than Smokey the Frigging French Bear.

The pale guard drew the window curtains and, after frowning at the closet again, switched off the lights and left. “Dan, did the boss come back to his room and forget to lock his door?”

Spy pushed open the closet doors as soon as the pale guard was out of earshot. Scout tumbled out of the closet.

“That was close.” Scout panted.

Spy picked up the brick he had dropped. “Scout, one more interference from you and I’ll gut you like a pig.”

“We talked about this, Spy. We don’t have time to stop and stuff everyone under the bed like they were sweaty underwear. You can’t kill everyone you see,” Scout said.

“I could kill every man and woman in this building, and walk out without a scratch,” Spy said. “But that’s for amateurs. I’ll only kill the two targets tonight. No one else.”

“Oh yeah? You were pretty happy about knocking out those other people downstairs,” Scout said.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“What’s the difference? We still gotta hide the bodies!”

“It takes more skill and time to subdue them than to kill them. I would’ve subdued that guard.” Spy glared at Scout. “Thanks to your interruption, however, we’ll have one more guard to worry about when we make our way to the roof of this building.”

“Whoa, hold up and back up for a sec. Why are we going to the roof?” Scout said.

“Our friend, Mr. Thurman, is likely to be there. His guards are saying that the area has been roped off for the night,” Spy said, heading for the door “If we’re lucky, our second target will be present as well.”

Spy pulled out the fire extinguisher from the pile of luggage on the trolley, and strode down the hall with the fire extinguisher in hand, leaving the trolley behind.

Scout caught up with him. “Elevator is that way, genius.”

“The elevator doesn’t go to the roof,” Spy said without looking back. “We’ll take the stairs, but I expect it to be heavily guarded.”

“Okay, so this is the new plan. We take down the guards, we go to the roof, we kill the targets, and we go home scot free. How does that sound?” Scout said.

“Close enough,” Spy said. He took cover behind a wall before he peeked around a corner. “If this goes off without a hitch, Scout, I’ll buy you dinner. I’ll even let you decide what disgusting food you want to stuff down your throat.”

“Yeah, right,” Scout said. Spy pulled back from peering around the corner, and held the fire extinguisher by its neck like it was a baseball bat. Scout was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that Spy was offering to treat him to something that wouldn’t try to kill both of them. “How do I know you ain’t some other Spy trying to mess with me?”

“Perhaps you should’ve considered that before accepting rides from a man whose face you’ve never seen,” Spy said snidely.

Scout warned him, “I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt over here, Spy, but you ain’t making it easy.”

“You should doubt me. I am a Spy,” Spy said, lifting his fire extinguisher. “Surprise.”

A leather jacket guard came around the corner. Spy slammed the fire extinguisher down onto the guard’s head. The guard made a choked noise at the back of his throat, and smashed his own face on the ground in a dead faint, narrowly missing Scout’s shoes.

“Way to go, Sneaky McSneak. You think anyone didn’t hear that?” Scout said. He kicked the guard in the kisser. The guard didn’t twitch when his teeth started bleeding; he wasn’t getting up from the floor anytime soon.

Spy dragged the guard away from the corner, so the guard’s legs weren’t sticking out from behind the wall. “Time for a change of disguise. Put on his clothes, Scout.”

“Are you kidding? I ain’t getting caught with my pants down out here,” Scout said.

“Do it quick and no one will see you,” Spy said. “Unless you want to be riddled with holes like a piece of subpar Swiss cheese the moment we enter the roof, I suggest you take his clothes.”

“A naked guy lying in the hallway don’t raise alarms at all,” Scout scoffed.

“You underestimate the level of thoughtless intoxication that guests indulge in in the anonymity of hotel rooms,” Spy said, straightening the cuffs of his bellboy jacket. He picked up his fire extinguisher. “In any case, there’s a linen hamper ahead next to the stairwell. I’ll hide the body in the hamper once I’ve scouted ahead. Stay here.”

Spy stalked off with his fire extinguisher. The guard smushed his cheek against the carpet, and started snoring with his mouth wide open.

“Frigging Spies,” Scout said. “You better not wake up and bite me, pal.”

Scout stripped the guard of his leather jacket and wifebeater and jeans and boots, leaving the guard in his underwear and socks. This was going to look weird to anyone who walked out of their room and caught him. Yeah, people got arrested for this.

Scout was getting tired of being busted by the police whenever Spy was around. Scout wasn’t afraid of cops; he beat them up every Tuesday and Thursday when they came over to the fence behind the base and yelled at the team for disturbing the cows in the farm next door. The cops had stopped bringing their tasers after Pyro had figured out how to reflect taser shots. Scout had a snowball’s chance of beating his big bro’s longest streak of not getting into trouble with the law when Spy insisted on getting them arrested every furlough.

Down the hall, just around the corner, a man was talking. Scout grabbed his stolen knife out of his bellboy uniform and swapped his uniform for the guard’s clothes in a hurry. The man said, “No hotel staff is allowed. The boss has booked the rooftop for the night.”

“Of course. My mistake,” Spy said.

“That’s right. Keep moving,” the man said.

A tell-tale thud sounded. Silence followed it. The takedown was a lot quieter than Scout had expected when he wasn’t standing next to it.

Scout rolled up his jeans, and, after folding his bellboy uniform in a messy bundle, looked around the corner to check if the coast was clear.

Spy was standing at the foot of a stairwell. His fire extinguisher was discarded on the floor. Spy had already changed into a leather jacket and jeans combo that more or less resembled Scout’s. The only difference was Spy’s clothes didn’t look like they were going to fall off him. Spy lifted an unconscious naked guard up by his armpits, and tipped him into a commercial sized linen hamper like kitchen trash.

“You get off on knocking people out or what?” Scout said, dragging his guard over to the linen hamper.

Spy made a noise of disgust. “No, I don’t ‘get off’ on it. I don’t ‘get off’, period.”

Scout snickered. “Heh, I bet.”

“I romance my partners. With them, I have dinners, go on dates, share sensual and fulfilling experiences, and enjoy _la petite mort_. I don’t just ‘get off’,” Spy said. “And I certainly don’t ‘get off’ during work. Unlike you, I can keep my libido fully under control.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what you just said,” Scout said. He dumped his guard into the linen hamper.

“Scout, I pity you,” Spy said. He checked the pockets of his leather jacket. After a moment of deliberation as he counted the stuff that he had hoarded, he picked up his fire extinguisher, and headed up the stairs.

The stairwell was carpeted and well-lit. Framed paintings of fruit bowls were hung on the wall. The banister was made out of sturdy wood that was painted white. The steps were narrow and steep, so Scout was stuck taking the stairs one at a time behind Spy while Spy walked like an old lady that didn’t want to break her hips.

“Why are you taking the fire extinguisher everywhere? It ain’t like Pyro is gonna show up with a match and a can of gas,” Scout said.

A shudder ran through Spy. Spy turned around on the stairs and glowered down at Scout. “Don’t jinx it. Speak of the devil and he will appear.”

“I hate to break it to you, but the cops ain’t gonna think it’s an accident if you crack those guys’ skulls open with a fire extinguisher,” Scout said. “People shoot themselves in freak accidents all the time. Shoot the guys in the face, leave the gun in their hands, and you got yourself an accident.”

“Yes, because people often shoot themselves in the face with a gun that is fired from across the room,” Spy said.

“I don’t see you coming up with ideas,” Scout said.

“Gas leaks, exposed wires, malfunctioning machinery, to name a few,” Spy said.

“That’s what you do when you don’t want to kill anyone for sure,” Scout said. “A bullet to the face, and boom! The only thing you have to worry about is picking molars out of the carpet.”

“Leave the murdering to me,” Spy said in distaste. “If nothing works, I’ll throw the targets off the building.”

The door at the top of the stairs opened to a breezy rooftop. A guard glanced at Scout and Spy before he resumed his patrol.

Potted trees and shrubs crowded the roof. The night was lit by strings of light that ran alongside the winding paths that took visitors through the garden and towards the wicker tables and chairs that were arranged in the four corners of the roof. One of the tables under a wilted palm tree was occupied by a dark-haired man. The man was scribbling on a newspaper.

“Look like we find the target. Mr Thurman is here,” Spy muttered.

Guards were patrolling the roof amidst the rows of plants. Under the dim lighting, it was difficult to count how many guards there were. The guards blotted out the lights wherever they walked.

Spy crouched and sneaked towards a rose bush. Scout followed him hastily. They were moving away from Thurman’s corner where most of the guards were congregating. Scout was light on his feet and his boots were anything but. They were almost as bad as the frigging metal combat boots that Scout had tripped over outside Soldier’s room. However, the open space and whistling wind cancelled out any noises that Scout had made.

Spy was sitting on his haunches under the rose bush and staring intently at three guards talking in low murmurs nearby. The guards were splitting up. Two guards went to the right. One guard stayed in the spot and lit a cigarette.

The guard put out his match. “I’d kill for a nice smok-”

With a fluid ease that made it almost look like he lost his grip on the brick, Spy threw a brick at the guard’s head. The guard crumpled like tissue paper.

“There are few spots to hide bodies.” Spy dragged the unconscious guard over to Scout and laid him under the rose bush. “This will have to do. Stay with the pile and knock out anyone who comes near it.”

“Dude, I ain’t staying behind with your body pile,” Scout said. He hadn’t had to say this since the day he had beaten his brothers to running up to the Butler house and kicking Brutal Butler Jr in the nads.

“You play baseball, yes?” Spy said.

“Is water wet? Is the sun hot? What kind of question is that? I was in all the leagues. Coaches around the country beg me to join their teams. I could play professionally if I want. I’m practically a one-man baseball team,” Scout said.

“Then I’m sure you can use this to defend yourself,” Spy said. He dropped a pool ball in Scout’s hand, before he disappeared behind a potted cactus.

Frigging typical.

The pool ball was colored red with the number ‘3’ printed on it. The paint was scratched and worn smooth by the felt cloth of a pool table. This was the first gift, if it could be called that, that Scout could remember getting from Spy, and Scout didn’t even play pool, but the pool ball was a weight solid enough that Scout could imagine the sharp crack it would make in the air when he threw it.

Scout might have been staring at the pool ball for too long, because he could imagine a second crack. Then a third one.

Spy reappeared, dragging an unconscious guard behind him. He tossed the guard on top of the guard that was lying next to Scout under the rose bush, and doubled back to retrieve two more unconscious guards. His fire extinguisher was sporting new dents in its side.

“No surprise run-ins with the guards, I take it?” Spy said.

“This place is deader than a cemetery. No one’s come poking around. Otherwise I would’ve added to this pile of knuckleheads,” Scout complained.

“I’ve disposed of the guards that are stationed nearby,” Spy said. “A few more, and I’ll move in on the target.”

“I don’t got all night, Spy. Put a hustle on it. The guy’s a frigging sitting duck. I’ll do it if you don’t want to. It’s like taking candies from a baby,” Scout said.

Spy lowered his face close to Scout’s. Because Scout wasn’t chicken, he didn’t cringe away, he just leaned as far away from Spy as he could go. But Spy grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar and yanked him forward. The pungent smell of burnt trash seeped up Scout’s nose as Spy hissed, “Don’t presume to tell me what to do, unless you want to be sent home in a body cast.”

“Ugh, what did you have for lunch? An ashtray?” Scout said, trying not to breathe more air than he needed to. When Spy raised his fire extinguisher threateningly, Scout cowered. “Anywhere but my face! I’m too good-looking!”

Spy threw his hands up. He dropped Scout, and stormed off in a huff. Scout coughed as he breathed in some sweet clean air, and he only caught the last bit of Spy’s rant, “-son is an idiot.”

Spy better not be saying what Scout thought he was saying. Scout would rather cut off his own ears than to hear it.

Scout sat back against the pile of guards. Unconscious bodies didn’t make for cushiony seating, but Scout had slept in enough dogpiles of dudes at home and in New Mexico that bony elbows didn’t bother him. Scout tossed his pool ball and caught it again. The ball was solid to the core. Scout could really crack open some heads with it. It was a shame that they weren’t used for throwing in pool. He would watch the crap out of a pool game if it weren’t just people whacking balls with a stick on a table.

A twig snapped. Scout perked up and leaned on his elbow to look out from under the rose bush.

A guard was patrolling the path that cut through the plants at the edge of the roof. If he kept walking down the path, he would walk past Scout’s hiding spot and there would be no chance of him seeing Scout or the body pile, but Scout had been sitting under the rose bush for too long. He was itching to do something, anything. As the guard wandered closer to the rose bush, Scout palmed his pool ball, which was nice and cool and dry because he had nerves of steel. Okay, Scout smelled blood in the water and only a frigging tugboat could stop him from going after it.

Scout crouched, lined up the shot, and threw his ball at the guard. The ball flew in a hard straight line. It connected with the guard’s head with a crisp crack. The guard wobbled on his feet, and then he face-planted on the floor.

That was beautiful. Scout punched the air. First time and he nailed it. Was he good or was he good?

Scout crept out of hiding. He retrieved his pool ball from the pot that it had fallen into, and grabbed the guard’s feet to drag him back to the body pile. He would have gotten away with it too, if he weren’t interrupted.

“What the hell are you doing?” a guard said from behind him.

Acting on reflex, Scout smashed the pool ball hard into the guard’s jaw. The guard went down harder than a hailstorm. He hit his own head on a tree trunk, and passed out with blood spurting from his nose.

“That’s what you get for trying to sneak up on me,” Scout said to the guard.

From what sounded like all the way across the roof, Spy cursed loudly, “ _Merde._ ”

Scout tried to see where Spy was. It wasn’t like Spy to get into trouble.

He didn’t see Spy. Instead, he saw everyone on the roof staring at him.

The guards had stopped dead in their tracks. A few had their hands on their holsters and none of them looked happy to see Scout. Thurman was no longer pouring over his newspaper. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at Scout. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Scout said. “Or three, I guess.”

Guards were drawing their weapons. A guard raised his gun at Scout from ten feet away as Thurman ran for the door.

There was a cry of pain as another guard keeled over. Spy stood behind the fallen guard with his fire extinguisher raised.

The guards shouted in alarm at seeing Spy, “There are two of them!”

“Scout, kill the target!” Spy ordered.

Scout ducked down as bullets sprayed in his direction. “I’m on him!”

A flying mug hit the shooting guard in the head and shattered into pieces, knocking him out. Loud clangs sounded repeatedly from Spy’s location, and more guards were heading there to take Spy down.

Scout dodged a guard that tried to clothesline him. A spray of soda showered Scout’s face when a can was flung at the guard’s temple.

“Dude! My soda!” Scout jumped over the unconscious guard.

“What a tragic waste of liquid sugar,” Spy said, punching a guard in the stomach.

“Buy it yourself next time if you’re just gonna throw it at people,” Scout said.

“There are more bodies over here!” a guard said.

Spy cussed.

So the guards found the body pile. Big whoop. Too bad they were just going to be added to the pile at the end of this,

With the guards in his vicinity taken out and the rest of the guards converging on Spy, Scout homed in on Thurman like a rocket. Thurman was dashing for the door through the chaos and he was mere feet away from the door. Scout wouldn’t reach him in time, and there was no saying how many guards were waiting on the floor below if Thurman got off the roof.

Scout gripped his pool ball. It wasn’t like baseball. In baseball, he didn’t have to pitch balls at running people. But in the gravel pits, Scout had plenty of practice chucking baseballs and cleavers and jars and Smissmass baubles at targets that ran as fast as himself. It was all about predicting where the target was headed and having a really good throwing arm.

Scout had a great throwing arm. And Thurman was going for the door.

The pool ball slammed into the back of Thurman’s head just as Thurman reached the roof door. Thurman slumped over the doorknob and slid down the door.

“Nice job catching that with your skull, moron!” Scout crowed. “See? You looking at this, Spy? This is why I’m the best at killing people.”

“He’s not dead yet. Kill him and make it quick,” Spy said shortly. A guard was writhing against Spy’s chest in a chokehold. “We have one more target to find.”

Thurman was out like a light. Scout pulled out the pocket knife he had taken from Thurman’s room. He wasn’t used to stabbing people; bats and guns were more his thing. The heart was probably a good place to stab somebody, if he knew where it was.

Scout jabbed the knife into the left side of Thurman’s chest and hoped for the best. He pulled out the knife, which was more difficult than sticking it in, and stabbed Thurman in the chest a few more times, until the knife refused to come out of his chest again.

“Not so good at running with a knife in your lungs, are you?” Scout said.

“I’ve seen better stabbings from drunken leprechauns armed with butter knives,” Spy said, stepping over the bodies lying at his feet. There were no more guards left standing on the roof.

“You facestab numbnuts like this all the time. It ain’t so hard,” Scout said.

“I don’t facestab. I backstab people who turn around suddenly,” Spy said. He kicked away the guns that littered the floor. “Gather the guards in one pile. They’ll wake up when someone finds them. The most they can do is give the police vague descriptions of us. This mission might not be a complete disaster.”

“How about this guy?” Scout dragged Thurman’s body away from the door. “No one is gonna think he died from a heart attack.”

“We’ll throw him and Murray off the building afterwards,” Spy said. “Put him with the guards for now. Let’s clean up this place before Murray arrives. We don’t want to make him suspicious of us.”

The door to the roof opened. A plump blond man was gaping at Scout and the dead Thurman that was being dragged along the floor, and then he gaped at Spy and the bodies strewn around him. His hair was tied in a ponytail and he was wearing a suit. He looked a lot like the second target in Spy’s photo.

“Aw crap,” Scout said.

“Help. Someone help me!” Murray said, turning around to run back down the stairs. “Two guys are killing people up here!”

The pool ball had rolled out of sight. Scout wasn’t carrying anything that he could throw at Murray and stop him. Quickly, Scout wrapped both his hands around the pocket knife in Thurman’s chest and grunted. The knife wasn’t coming out.

A squeak made Scout raise his eyes. Spy pulled a rubber duck out from the inside of his jacket, and said, “Duck.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Scout yanked at the knife. This must be what it was like to try and pull a sword out of a large rock. The knife was wedged between a couple of ribs and the handle was too skinny for Scout to get a good grip on it. “A little help?”

“No, you imbecile.” Spy gritted his teeth and raised his arm. “Duck.”

Scout had no idea what Spy was doing, but he knew a pitch when he saw one. Scout dropped to a crouch a split second before the rubber duck sailed over his head and landed in front of Murray.

The rubber duck quacked.

Murray stared down at it. “The hell?”

The rubber duck exploded. It was like running past one of those stickietraps where eight stickiebombs were stacked in a pile because Demo hadn’t been counting, and then the stickietrap was detonated. The explosion rocked the floor and the hot air singed the hair on the back of Scout’s neck.

When the smoke cleared, Scout shakily climbed to his feet. The roof door had been blown off its hinges, and Murray’s body had been flung off to god-knew-where. Distantly, voices of alarmed men and women were coming from the stairwell.

“Holy crap, I think I pissed myself,” Scout said.

“You’ll not sit in the car.” Spy wrinkled his nose. He slid his remote detonator into his jacket. “I’ll truss you up and put you in the trunk. Your mother won’t be able to tell you from a Thanksgiving dinner when you get home.”

“Sheesh. I was kidding. You’re no fun, y’know that?” Scout said.

“Pardon me for losing my sense of humor when local police are coming after me.” Spy swung his legs over the edge of the roof. “No point in making this look like an accident now that Murray had been blown away in more ways than one. Well done, you’ve ruined the mission, Scout.”

“Nah, it ain’t me. They wised up ‘cause they noticed the creepy bald guy crouch-walking around the place like a perv,” Scout said. “It’s kind of hard to miss your shiny bald head, Baldie.”

“I’ll tell your mother you’ll be late for dinner.” Spy shimmied down a pipe that led to a fire escape outside the twelfth floor. “Have fun hitchhiking home.”

“Keep dreaming. You ain’t getting any alone time with Ma.” Scout was quick to climb down from the roof and follow Spy down the pipe. He jumped onto the fire escape. The metal structure creaked and groaned as it swayed in the windy night. Spy paled and clutched the handrails. Scout scampered down the fire escape. “I’ll race you. Loser buys dinner.”

“Scout,” Spy seethed. His knuckles were bone white on the rails. “ _Mon Dieu_. The things I do for love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Stop ruining Spy’s Silent Assassin rating, Scout.
> 
> I finally exorcised this monster from my draft folder. Somehow this crack fic ends up longer than most of my serious stuff.


End file.
